The Lawson's near my office has pretty good sandwiches. I'm not saying this because they have the BreadTalk branding. I'm saying this because even if you know these items are cheap cast-offs - of course you will not find their floss bread there - they're still pretty good. For P39 you get what they call an Asian sandwich - essentially grated carrots, cucumbers (Japanese, they emphasize), a generous smear of liver spread, and a slice of luncheon meat. It doesn't sound glamorous, but it does taste good. And I think the bread's slightly toasted the French way.

I buy one this morning. Despite my wallet-based troubles I still find myself peckish at nine in the morning, and that sandwich does the job - not too filling, but tasty enough. I hold the sandwich bag in my hands - no paper bag; I always ask the convenience stores not to give me a paper bag if I'm buying items I can carry with my hand anyway, never mind it's newly warmed - and walk into the elevator. There isn't much of a queue. There are around seven of us, I think. Or eight. Three of them are Japanese men, walking in noisily and shutting up as soon as they settle in.

I press 19. Someone presses 16. Someone presses 17. Someone presses 18. Damn it. I just want to enjoy my sandwich in peace. At my desk. I know it's not dignified, but it's a sandwich, and the pantry at my office is not exactly a happy place.

But, well, just a little more. The elevator door is closing and I just have to hold on to this bag a little longer.

"Alam mo," one of the women in the elevator starts, gesturing to a colleague. She's in her late 20s, I think. Short, a little pudgy, wearing a faded red shirt.

Why is she saying this out loud? In public? Not that I mind, but this is the sort of thing you say in a more, err, secluded place. Like the unhappy pantry in an office. And now, here I am, part of an unwilling audience of employees, listening in to what is perhaps a hurting woman's moment of catharsis, proudly retold. Well, save for the three Japanese men.

Yep, this sounds perfectly like catharsis. You long intend to do something, but you hold off until the very last minute, and when you do push through with it, you're not completely in control. But then again, some of the best decisions ever made were possibly made with alcohol in one's bloodstream. Not that I would know.